Le Morte d'Harry Potter
by Kenningar
Summary: Dumbledore has just died, and Harry is leaving his friends behind to hunt down the remaining Horcruxes. Can they defeat Voldemort before he sets his plans in motion? And why are the shadows of the past so determined to came back to life?
1. Chapter 1: The Sound Of Silence

Chapter 1; **THE SOUND OF SILENCE**

Head down, soaked by the rain, Harry was standing in the cold evening.

He had been there since the burial ceremony had ended. He hadn't been aware of it all, actually, as he felt trapped in a maze he couldn't escape from. Dumbledore was dead, and nothing else mattered anymore. How could it? The most powerful wizard of this age had passed away, killed by a member of his own staff. Killed by a traitor, while he was on a quest to destroy the vilest piece of magic Harry had ever heard of. Horcruxes. The thrill that came down his spine had nothing to do with the cold, hard rain that had started falling about an hour ago. Harry was lost, utterly alone in the dark, and the only person who could have helped him rested in a marble tomb under his very eyes.

The task of destroying the remaining horcruxes, necessary to even think of facing Voldemort, was his to undertake. Harry's heart constricted, feeling hopeless on front of what he had to accomplish. As he had been pointed out before, he was never really prepared for that. He hadn't even finished his magical education, nor was he of age. The only reason he was alive was because of the blood protection his mother had laid on him with her dying breath, and of what his friends were willing to go through to help him. And he was now alone. Ron was out of his league, Ginny only though of comforting him, and the best Hermione could do was to provide theoretical arguments and discussions, not anything even remotely related to duelling or finding horcruxes. Remus had fled, hoping to escape the ministry-led werewolf hunt that spread throughout the country. McGonagall and Moody were busy keeping the Order from falling into chaos and despair. Sirius was dead. Dumbledore was dead.

Harry was weak, he knew it. He was even weaker than usual lately and even more so since Dumbledore had fallen from the astronomy tower. He knew he wasn't without talent, especially when provoked, or when his friends or people he knew were in danger. He could fly, too. That though almost made him smile – as if that could help in fighting dark wizards. His lips were too sore to react, so he ended up grimacing. Shaking his head, he made himself focus. He needed to find the horcruxes, a need so compelling it was almost physically painful. He had to find them, so that Dumbledore's death wasn't in vain. Harry couldn't bear the thought of his former headmaster dying in vain. Even if last years' events had somehow created a rift between them, as Harry had had a hard time adjusting to his new status of equal to the elder man, Dumbledore still represented to Harry what magic was. How good, how surprising, how exhilarating it still was, even six years after he entered the wizarding world.

And now Dumbledore was dead. Harry couldn't see how the Order would stand a chance without him. McGonagall was an excellent teacher, behind a very stern look, and Harry had a thing for the old auror: a grizzled man, who had been through hell and back, a natural survivor. But both of them were mentors, not fighters; they could lead, think, galvanize beaten troops, but they couldn't face Voldemort in battle. That was his role to play, his reason to carry on, his purpose. The sheer magnitude of it all made Harry's head spin. Yet, somewhere in all of these doubts, he couldn't help but feeling relived. He had spent his whole life suffering because of the Dark Wizard. He never got to meet his parents, was raised by despising relatives, and was threatened on a yearly basis. Because of him, his friends would never be safe. Because of him, Harry had to keep Ginny at bay when the only thing he longed to was having her in his arms. Because of him, Cedric Diggory was dead.

Raising his head, Harry gazed on the nearby silhouette of Hogwarts. The afternoon had slowly drifted into the early evening of a cold summer day, and the students of the four houses should be going to bed about now, joking, or complaining about their teachers. Tonight, none of this was happening, and in the general sorrow, nothing distinguished the venerable school from a haunted castle. The difference between the usual low humming of whirling activities and general happiness that Harry had come to associate with Hogwarts, and the gloomy atmosphere that had seized the castle since Dumbledore's passing hit him when he understood what his former headmaster had meant by love being his greatest power. His love for the castle, the staff, the students of each house (although the love he felt for Slytherin was very different from what he felt each time he stepped into Gryffindor's Common Room) and the endless little adventures and surprises that came from living with magic often threatened to overwhelm him. These feelings were the opposite of the fear, despair, madness, or death Voldemort and his death eaters strove on, and comparing the two opposite made Harry shiver with righteous fury.

The fury was a burning wire twisting in his guts, a white-hot steel poured in his mind, a reeling fire occupying each of the low breath he took. As anger shook Harry, the magic stirred deep within him, the compelling urge to act waking up something in his core he didn't even know the existence of. Power gathered, insufflating him, rushing from his limbs. Jerking his head back, exposing his face to the icy wind, Harry screamed in the night. In his shout, he poured his desperation, his frustration, his grief, his anger, all the feeling that had matured within until he was full of them. Now articulate language could express his feelings, and so he didn't try to rein them in. he let the loud shout die out of itself. Then, the throat sore, body weakened by the fury that inhabited him not a moment ago, he crumbled to his knees.

Exhausted by the power surge, he vacillated for a short moment. His weakened state had not affected his mind, however. While he recuperated, he pushed aside his grief to reassess what had just happened. Slowly raising his right arm, he flexed his fingers, almost blue from the cold rain that had not cessed to fall. Mesmerized, he paused to retrace the rush he had experienced, trying to recreate it. The only other time he had witnessed such a built-up of pure energy was the first time he had touched his wand. Taking it from out of his pants, he raised it to his eyes. The wand fit immediately inside his palm, pointed outward, out of habit. Remembering the conflicted feeling that had forced the pent-up magic to break free, he closed his eyes, and raised his wand. Carefully mustering his thoughts, he pushed aside the loss he felt for Dumbledore. He didn't want to threaten his experiment by letting his thoughts wander to very nearby white marble. This was why he had closed his emerald eyes. He knew he could do it again. And yet he failed at his first try. And his second. And his third. Frustrated, he let his control slip and the souvenirs of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower managed to spring to the foreground of his conflicted mind. It seemed like his grief would not allow him to move on. The guilt of focusing on something else than his former mentor gripped him in the guts, making him feel sick with himself. With a long sight, Harry changed of tactic.

Instead of trying to deny the sickening guilt and grief Dumbledore's departure was causing him, he mentally turned to face his inner turmoil. Baring his teeth in the effort to stand his ground in front of the maddening bits of his life with Dumbledore, he reviewed it all. The older man's laugh, twinkling eyes, aerial like walking, his fierce presence when faced with the dark arts, his usual unusual welcoming speeches, his superb spell casting. The accumulated strength of the remembrance made him cringe, but he held on. The guilt made him defiant, the defiance made him angry, the anger woke up the power again. As a single tear slipped on his check, quickly lost in the battering rain, Harry raised his arm once more, and from the tip of his wand a white pillar of light escaped, its bolt like shape thrust at the black clouds hovering over Hogwarts. That was his tribute to Dumbledore.

The power used to sustain the light pillar was tapping in his magical reserves, exhausting them quickly, and yet there seemed to be nothing Harry could do to server that link before he overstretched his strength. The maelstrom of emotion was still raging inside him, making him oblivious to his safety. He even missed the approaching footsteps coming from behind his crumbled form.

"Harry!" Ginny's concerned voice summoned him from the deep pit of guilt he had cast himself in. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Harry was unable to answer for a while. Understanding what a confused state he must be in, Ginny didn't press him any further, and let him closer to her. He buried his head into her shoulder, letting her cuddle him without a word. The seconds passed by, both teenagers getting soaked by the rain while Ginny tried to ease Harry's pain by gently stroking his hair. Then, slowly, as if hesitating, Ginny began to speak again, choosing carefully her words.

"Do you remember the time, in my first year, when He possessed me? I wasn't...I wasn't myself this year, not at all. When you put an end to all this, and we went to Dumbledore's office, I was so scared I even though of escaping rather than face him. I hadn't done anything wrong myself, but I didn't think I'd be able to convince Dumbledore. And yet, when we spoke together, he never doubted my recollection of what had happened. I'm sure he must have thought about it much more than he let out, but for a while I could face myself in the mirror. His approval, his dismissal of any wrong from my part even made me guiltier than before, if that was possible. I put up a brave face every day, but every night I used to cry myself to sleep, almost all summer long. And do you know what I understood then?"

Harry pulled himself up, revealing the silent tears he had been shedding, and face her, a hollow expression not quite leaving his green eyes. Ginny's heart constricted at seeing him like this. There shouldn't be so much pain in those eyes! There should only be the exhilaration of flying or playing pranks, living the life he had been denied since he was one year old. The despair made her fierce, hardening her resolve.

"Nothing should eat you alive, Harry. There are things in this world we have no leverage on, things that infuriate us, things that we don't understand. But be it as it may, and let us face the future undaunted. The past is spent, and there's nothing to be done about it. The best thing we could do is to honour the dead, but to live on for them. And for ourselves. Don't give up, Harry. Don't give up on life, because I'm not giving up on you."

The silent sobs softly shacking Harry had ceased, and, still kneeled, he straightened up. Ginny's hand cupped around his chin, and, now apprehensive, she whispered. "Come back to the castle. Come back to the fire so we can dry ourselves." She didn't dare add "come back to me" as she tentatively leaned in to kiss him.

He kissed her back, slowly at first, but quickly gaining assurance until he poured his loss in the kiss they were sharing. His lips moved ever so lightly on hers, raising goose bumps that had little to do with the rain. She stroked his neck, then his cheeks, desperately trying to deepen the kiss. Without seeming to pay attention, he pulled back, a shy smile on his lips, eyes still closed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Okay, Ginny. Let's go back to the castle."

They got up, knees shaking from standing so long in the rain, and began to walk back to the castle. The night was fully there now, and just a few lights here and there betrayed any activity in the old castle. Slipping through the gate, they let themselves in, not wanting to attract attention. Harry's spell that had generated such a blinding light must have been missed by the students and the staff, who didn't want to look by the window in the direction of the white tomb, or mistaken for a thunderbolt. Ginny had seen it because she had been out looking for Harry, who hadn't come at the evening's meal. Beside her, still grasping her hand as they crossed the shadows of the corridors, Harry walked, lost in his thoughts.

Still conscious of Ginny's warm hand, Harry made his way to the common room. Once there, he sat on a sofa next to the fireplace. Taking his head in his hands, he silently watched Ginny conjuring warm chocolate for the two of them. He took the one she was offering him, and appreciated the fact that she let the silence undisturbed, preserving the eerie of the moment, letting them mourn on their own, and yet together. He had to think.

He would not be coming back to Hogwarts next year, of that he was sure. There was just no way he was going to sit back and relax for one more year while innocents were dying. He felt he owed that to them, and to Dumbledore. The old man had laid down his life in the fight against the Dark Lord, and now Harry was going to step up to his mentor's commitment. That meant leaving Hogwarts' security behind, and facing the outside word. He would let Hermione and Ron behind. He would of course keep in touch with them as often as possible, but they could be allowed to accompany him. Hermione was the brightest witch Harry had ever seen, but she was a perfectionist. In a fight, she would lose the split-second difference between victory and defeat by trying not to fire just a spell, any spell, but by trying to find the exact best spell for any given situation. She would be of a greater aid by planning for him, searching for items he would have overlook, and tracking down anything related to Horcruxes. Harry would have preferred to have Ron with him, to know his mate had his back, but he needed him here, because of what he had to say to Ginny.

Carefully keeping his emotions in check, Harry began speaking. "Ginny…I've been thinking."

"Thinking about what, Harry?" Ginny raised her head from the chocolate cup she had barely touched.

"About us. About what I have to do next. Dumbledore left some things unfinished, and I think he meant for me to take it up after he…after he passed."

"What did he left you?"

"I'm sorry Ginny, I can't tell you." Harry shifted on his seat, uneasy. He hated not telling her the truth, but that was the only way he would get her to agree to stay behind. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone but Hermione and Ron."

"But wouldn't you, like, need some help to do whatever it is you have to do?" Ginny got closer to Harry, sitting on the edge of his sofa. She put away her mug, clenching her fists. "I'm not getting left behind, Harry. You know I can fight, and I've got as many reasons as you to go after Voldemort." She desperately tried to control the raising edge to her voice, knowing it would only prevent her from convincing him. Boy, could he be thick when he was trying to be noble!

"No Ginny, I'm not letting you behind. I'm leaving everyone behind, including Ron and Hermione. I'll be going from place to place next year, and I won't have it happening to you. If anything happened to one of you, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"Well you can't protect me from this war, Harry, not either way. Because if you leave me, I'm not going just to sit back and relax while the death eaters pick up my family, one after the other. I'm fighting, Harry, with you, or the Order of the Phoenix, or with the Dumbledore's Army. Too many of us have shied from or responsibilities in the past, but no longer." Staring right into his eyes, she added, defiant. "Beside, would you like it if your girl just waited for you quietly at home? Is this who you think I am?"

A tired smile came to Harry's lips. He loved her so much went she was like that, the fiery red-head ragingly victorious of the Quidditch cup he had kissed in front of the whole House without even caring of the other's reactions. His smile broadened, and began to move to kiss her, the urge to touch her almost too powerful to resist. He caught himself up, but barely, and saw her frowning as he drew back. This was going to be much harder than expected, and yet part of him hoped Ginny would stand up to him and find a way so they remained together. Part of him desperately wanted her by his side.

This was how Ron and Hermione found them, Harry constricted by what he had to say, Ginny torn between annoyance and worry. Ron, who was the first to enter the common room, straightened up, taking in the faces of his friend and of his sister.

"Hey, what's going on here, are you breaking up with my sister or what?"

Annoyed, Ginny cast him a sour look, and fired back. "What about you? What's the reason you're coming back here well past midnight? Did you finally ask Hermione out?"

Both Harry and Ron gaped, while a very red, and yet strangely smug Hermione came out from behind Ron. Taking his hand firmly, she answered with a weak voice. "As a matter of fact, he did. I was relaxing in the library, he came to find me."

"Well, good for you." Winking at Hermione, Ginny turned to smile at her brother. "And you, now you've come to your senses." As the couple came closer, she jerked her head to Harry. "Not to be a buzz killer, but I'm going to need some help here. Harry's being 'noble' again."

"You make it sound like I'm being stupid" mumbled Harry. "Look guys, all I want is for you to stay safe, is that impossible to understand?"

"Harry, we understand you concern." Hermione, who had seated next to Ron in front of Ginny and Harry, pattered him on the lap. "but you can understand we feel the same way about you, can't you?"

"That's not the same thing, Hermione, and you know that. I can't just turn my back from this fight, it is mine. Remember the prophecy."

"What Prophecy, Harry?" Ginny pressed his hand, desperate for answers that might help her understand where Harry was going.

Sighting heavily, Harry turned to face her. Gazing into her eyes, he began to speak. "Last year, when I gathered the D.A. to go to the Ministry of Magic, do you remember Malfoy's bickering about a prophecy? It turned out it was actually important, or at least Dumbledore's thought so. Well, he said it was because Voldemort thought it was, but that's not what matters. I'm supposed to finish him off, Ginny. Or to d-die trying." The night's heavy emotions finally caught up with him, making him stumble on the last part.

Ginny forced a smile, grasping his hand even stronger, whitening her joints. "Well, if you think I'll let you dump me after this one…dating the Boy Who Lived, who's also the One…" Closing her eyes for a short while, she mustered her feelings, and addressed him as if oblivious to Ron and Hermione. "You can do it, Harry. I know it. I believe in you, but stop saying you'll die trying. I won't let it happen, okay?"

Harry stood up, slipping his hand out of hers. He gazed at the fire, letting Ron and Hermione exchange puzzled looks, and Ginny cringing, drawing her hand he had just abandoned back to her chest, grasping both hands, fighting the feeling of rejection. Slowly, with an otherworldly tone, he began to recite the verses he had heard almost a year ago.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_

_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_

_The One with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies"_

Harry's low breath sounded very loud in the silence that fell between them as Ginny took in what she had just heard and two very worried Ron and Hermione monitored her reaction. Harry had closed his eyes tight, bracing for the next round. He knew his friends would press even harder to accompany him, out of compassion or worry. He would not – could not – allow it.

"Well," Ginny broke the silence, as if reluctantly. "it's not as if it's a surprise, is it? We've always knew you'll have to finish him off, Harry. You wouldn't rest otherwise. It's just going to be harder and longer now Dumbledore…I mean, you'll need us all the more Harry. Don't turn you back on us."

Casting pleading looks to Ron and Hermione, she silently asked for support. Hermione was the first to rally her.

"Harry, I know you think Dumbledore left you something to do. It's just…he never intended you to do it entirely on you own. He asked you to tell us." A frown and a nod from Ginny made her hurry to press on. "Beside, you weren't much older than Ginny is now when you learnt what it is you have to search."

Harry sharply turned to face her, fury in his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare! Don't you dare tell her what I'm hunting down!" It was his turn to turn to Ron for support, while Ginny snorted. "Ron, mate, you've got to help me on this one. It's your sister!"

All eyes on him, Ron took his time to answer. When he did, he addressed Harry, not the girls.

"Are you absolutely positive you have to do it on your own?" A sharp nod confirmed it. "Okay. I suppose there's not much we can do to convince you otherwise."

Both girls began to protest, but he stopped them on their tracks, raising his hand, still looking right at Harry.

"If that's how it's going to be, could you answer a question, and make a promise?"

Uneasy about this sudden change of tone of the conversation, Harry nervously shifted on his feet. Regaining his seat next to Ginny, but careful not to touch her, he nodded Ron to go own. Ginny, still looking hurt, stiffened when he sat, but didn't try to take his hand either.

"The question first then. Will you try to come back as often as possible? I'm not going back to Hogwarts next year, and I plan to help the Order, so you won't have to worry about having a secure spot to rest. Think of it as a back-up shelter, okay?"

Once again the centre of attention, Harry looked in turn to his friends' expression. Ginny's face was closed, not betraying any emotion. Ron was merely waiting for his answer, although his hand was squeezed tight around Hermione's. Hermione was the most worried one, her eyes going between Harry and Ginny.

"I suppose I can. It won't be often, not a chance, but I need to keep in touch anyway, in case something happen."

Before the girl started protesting, Ron hurried to say, grinning "Yeah, don't expect to survive the fit mom's going to throw if you don't show up at Bill and Fleur's wedding, you know, now that Phlegm's the better thing that happened to our family in a long time if you ask mom."

Ginny barely suppressed a surprised laugh while Hermione drew closer to Ron. It was the first time Harry heard him call Fleur like this, which made him smile. They were the best friends he could have wished for, and he loved them so much for that. But that was exactly why he had to do what he was doing – no one was being hunted down and hurt because of him. Putting on a sour mask, he pressed on, his voice hard.

"And what's the promise?"

Both girls looked startled. Ron responded, smiling shyly.

"I know and we know, Harry, that you think you're alone in this. But you're not. Would you promise to call us for help anytime you need it, or before you face Him?"

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but being impressed by his friend. Whether it was a side effect of Ron's chess skills, or his uneasiness with feelings, but he had Harry cornered. From confusion, hope had flared in Ginny's eyes, while Hermione, feeling very proud, lightly kissed Ron in the neck. Harry, despising himself for what he had to do, was reduced to play his last card. If alienating his friends was what it cost to keep them safe, them he would go on with his plan.

"Yeah, like it would help me to take care of you while I'm battling Voldemort. Remember the Ministry, Ron, you ended up a burden. Hermione, you're much more helpful in a library, where you belong. You're certainly not a fighter. If you want to help, come up with a secured communication device we can use, and send me info on my prey. Ginny…"

Harry braced for her reaction. Ron's look and Hermione's shock already told him he had succeeded, and that his friends would not object to him leaving. With some time, they might come up with new arguments, but he would not leave them the opportunity; he was leaving at dawn tomorrow. As soon as he had taken care of Ginny, he'd leave to his room.

"Ginny…I don't want you."

Staring in Ginny's brown eyes, he watched as the young girl's expression went from surprise when he began peaking, doubt when he stopped, shock when she understood his statement was more general than Voldemort's matter, and finally pain as her eyes filled with tears. The hurt reverberated in all her body as if she'd been hit. Getting up on her feet, ragingly whipping the tears out of her eyes, she faced him.

"Is this what you want then, Potter?"

Making himself to look right at the havoc he was forced to cause, Harry stood up too.

"Yeah, this is."

As the girl he loved stormed out of the room, Harry felt like his heart had stopped beating. Fighting the urge to run after her to console her, he kept his false features on, and addressed Ron and Hermione, shell-shocked at his sudden change of behaviour.

"If there's nothing more to whine about, I'm leaving."

For a long time in Gryffindor's Common Room, the burning wood was the only thing disturbing the calm of the night, as Ron tried to bring solace to a crying Hermione.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was alone in the bedroom. He assumed that Neville had gone to the great hall for the breakfast, and that Seamus had come back home. He supposed a lot of worried parents would come and collect their offspring now Dumbledore was no longer here to guarantee the school's security. Ron was nowhere to be seen either, probably sulking from last night's conversation, or, if Harry was lucky, comforting both girls and still trusting Harry would do the right thing. No, Harry chastised himself, he shouldn't hope for such things. He had to bear the burden of doing the right thing, even if he was the only one aware of it. Beside, constantly thinking about his friends and worrying about them would only made it easier for Voldemort to get to him the next time he would use legitimacy on Harry.

Passing his hand in his hair, Harry rubbed his scar. He had no recollections of what had happened once he had leaved the common room, but he must have hit the sack at soon as he got there, because he was still fully dressed. His scar had hurt sometime in the night, a result of the evening's conflicted emotions. Or of Voldemort's joy, Harry darkly assumed. Dumbledore gone, he would already picture himself Minister of Magic, undisputed ruler of all Great Britain.

The only thing preventing him from collecting his plunder was a rapidly vanishing group of scattered and scarred survivors whose leader had just been killed by a traitor. And a sixteen years-old boy who suddenly felt very alone and powerless.

Trying to shake himself out of a mounting felling of despair, Harry packed his school stuff in his trunk, changed to his muggle clothes, and prepared his Firebolt for the flight. Magically shrinking his trunk, Harry transfigured it in a black backpack. He shouldered it, casting a last glance at the room that was his for six long and happy years, and turned his back on Hogwarts.

Circling the venerable castle, feeding his memory before nostalgia took its toll, Harry saw his friends walking to Dumbledore's tomb. He debated whether or not to join when, and was about to turn tail without further ado when he saw a white winged form making its way to meet them. Suppressing a sight, Harry leaned on his broom, and raced Hedwig. Emerging from Gryffindor's tower, he zigzagged close to the ground, going at breakneck speed to catch up with his owl. Try as he might, he still got there second, stopping to a standstill in a heartbeat before dismounting in front of his friends, leaving the white tomb between them. Hermione suppressed a throb, but Ron, whose arm was cast across Hermione's shoulder, smiled tentatively to Harry. Harry nodded, happy to see that there was at least a relationship that would be easy to mend. Ginny's expression was torn, a mixt between fierce defiance, proclaimed indifference, and red eyes. Hedwig had chosen to rest on her right shoulder, and was eyeing Harry disapprovingly.

Oblivious to the other's presence, Harry spoke softly to her.

"Would you care after her please? I can't take her with me." Hedwig's offended howling didn't manage to distract him for Ginny's sight. He refused to break eye contact with her, postponing the moment of departure as much as possible, reluctant to leave.

"I will. Take care of yourself, Harry." Tears menaced to overwhelm Ginny confidence, making her squeezing her eyes tight to avoid crying in earnest.

"I will" was his answer. Without adding anything, he swung his leg over his Firebolt, took a deep breath, and without turned to say goodbye to his friends, kicked hard the ground to take off.

Head up, bathed by the sun, Harry flew in the warming morning.


	2. Chapter 2: Devils and Dust

Hi ! welcome to the second chapter of "Le Morte d'Harry Potter"!

I hope you enjoyed the first, but also hope to have presented in this one some of the ideas I have in store for you. There is more action in this one than in its predecessor, but the real deal will only kick in chapter three – which _should_ be online next Wednesday. Until then, good reading, and don't forget to add your review! (besides, if you leave an idea in it, or an interesting comment…) ^^

Chapter 2; **DEVILS AND DUST**

Harry landed near Edinburgh, judging his best chance at being inconspicuous would be to fade in the Muggle word, turning his back on the wizarding population. From there he could take a train to London, where he would have to stop to Gringotts to collect some gold. The last trip to Hogsmeade had left him enough wizard coins, if barely, and he spill had some pounds he had been saving – not using would be more accurate. But he had to replenish his pockets, and to device a way to get to Gringotts unnoticed, should the need arise. If he wasn't prudent, the Daily Prophet's headline would get Death Eaters on his trail more quickly than if he had shown up in front of Voldemort's lair.

The train he took, one of the first departing to the capital, was boarded by high-spirited teens of his age, who looked like they had made a point of proving how exuberant teenagers on a trip for their first week of summer holidays can be. The worry-free banter flying between boys and girls made Harry smile. What wouldn't he give to be as insouciant as they were! Still, the verbal sparring about how the night's sleeping arrangements would be made allowed his mind to wander for a while, and he welcomed it. As the train travelled through the countryside, Harry relaxed completely, dozing on and off. He shook himself up when the train stopped at Birmingham, and made his way to his connection, pausing only to grab a cup of coffee and buy a newspaper. He had ben blissfully unaware of what had happened in the muggle world, and wanted to check it out.

Unfortunately, he was unable to do so because of the increased proximity of long, unrestrained giggles. Looking up from the paper, he saw that one band of girls, from the group who took the same train in Edinburgh, had moved to his wagon. There were also a couple of guys with them, but they seemed to be somehow subdued, and much grumpier than before. One of them, in particular, eyed Harry with a murderous glare that made him feel self-conscious. Shrugging it off, Harry went back to reading his article, until he was addressed directly by one of the girls.

"I wouldn't try the coffee if I were you. This brand doesn't seem to be able to make anything you can safely drink."

Startled, Harry raised his eyes to meet the speaker's. They belonged to a tall blonde who reminded him of Fleur or Gabrielle. She was sitting with her friends, who held their breath, waiting for Harry's reaction, while the boys, seating across the alley, looked gloomier than ever. Harry smiled, trying not to get involved with the group. He didn't want to lie to them, nor did he wish to start a fight with the boys.

"Thanks, but I think I have to, I had a rough night." He grinned apologetically, hopping the girl would not dig any further.

"Yeah, I can see that." The self-confident laugh quickly reduced his hopes. This girl was used to get her way with boys, he could see that. "Does your hair always behave that way, or were you late to catch the train this morning?"

Harry's hair was even more untidy than usual, due to the long trip he had made on his broom from Hogwarts to Edinburgh. Scratching his mind for a plausible answer, he passed his hand in his hair, trying to smooth it.

"I rode my bike to the train station, and I never liked to wear a helmet." Feeling he would not resist to more probing, he hurried to ask. "Where are you guys going?"

This time, it was another girl that answered, much to the annoyance of the blond. "We're staying a week in London, at Kate's father's place." Mimicking quotation marks, she followed. "It's going to be a perfect opportunity to cultivate ourselves, visiting the finest expositions of the hour, as well as the glorious remnants of our past." Pausing to wink at her friend, she turned back to Harry "At least that's what we are supposed to do." The hearty laugh they shared made Harry grin, again.

The blond girl pressed on again. "Do you want to join us?" Her position made it clear she meant much more than that, so Harry was relieved to answer earnestly.

"Thanks, but I can't. I've got an errand to run in London, but then I'm leaving to Wales, to spend some time at my parents'."

"Ah, too bad! Maybe another time?"

She stopped as Harry jerked his head to the end of the wagon, where he could have sworn he had just heard a faint 'pop'. But he relaxed when he saw it was just one of the group's girls, coming back from the other wagon. Trying to dissipate any wrong feeling he might have created, he threw himself back to the conversation, discussing with the teenagers until they arrived at their terminus. He left them here, relieved not to have made any major slip, but worrying about his lack of improvisation. That may be something he'd want to look into, he thought, if he didn't want to call himself out if he ever used disguises.

The long trip from northern Scotland to London had taken the best part of the morning, leaving him facing the buzzing midday rush hours of the capital. Elbowing his way through the underground, he reached Diagon Alley just after stopping in the Leaky Cauldron to order a meal. Hiding his scar behind his hair, he chose a quiet spot in tom's pub to eat, trying to gauge how much people would recognize him without his scar. He wasn't satisfied with his sample, however, as very few wizards were there, and the tone was much more subdued than usual. Even Tom, the larger than life bartender, was sitting quietly on his own. It was the day after Dumbledore's burial, and the magical community was still mourning its hero. Sad as he was, Harry couldn't help but seeing the opportunity: if there were few people out there, that meant he could use the invisibility coat without worrying of bumping into someone.

Going out of the bar, he put it on, and raised his wand to recreate the archway. He was pleased to see only a few silhouettes in the street, and walked quietly to Gringotts. Once inside, he let it slip, revealing himself, before walking to the nearest goblin. He would have preferred to remain unnoticed, but he didn't dare sneaking into the goblin's realm, not trusting their reaction. He still had in mind the warning Hagrid had gave him while in first year. Coming in front of the counter, he waited until the goblin motioned him to come closer.

"I'm Mister Potter, I'd like to have access to my family vault."

He handed out his tiny gold key, and waited while the goblin examined it. Once he was finished, he gestured to another goblin, who took Harry to a small rail car, and from then on they rode in silence. They only stopped when they arrived in front of the massive door Harry recognised immediately. The goblin passed his fingers along invisible lines, used the key, and with the typical flash of green smoke, the door vanished, revealing the massive amount of gold the vault contained. Harry trailed inside, taking out a bag from his pocket, and proceeded to take as much gold as possible as fast as possible. This vault obsessed him, mocked him. How fair was it that of all the things he wanted from his parents, the only thing he had was gold?

Once he had finished replenishing his bag, Harry raised on his feet. More than six years after he had discovered it, he still hadn't managed to see the back wall of the vault, nor did he know the true extent of his fortune. On a spur of the moment inspiration, he turned to circle the biggest mound of gold. If he knew how much money he had, he could use it to finance the Order's activities! That way, they could buy off contacts at the ministry, pay off informants, and set up safe houses. The excitation at the prospect of spending this gold made him slip as he crossed the room, making him stop to steady himself. When he raised his head, he saw a large, ancient looking chest set against the wall. Turning to address the goblin, who was patiently waiting at the door, his back to him, Harry called him.

"Excuse me sir, but who else got here, besides me?"

The taciturn goblin answered immediately, not needing to consult the heavy book pinned to his belt.

"Not a single living soul since you were here with mister Rubbeus Hagrid, sir, and before that, no one since your parents. And, as far as I recall, no one except members of the Potter's bloodline has ever set foot in this vault. You come from an ancient family, Mister Potter, so you have one of the most secure vaults in all of Gringotts."

"There's a chest in the back, can I take it with me?" Harry felt self-conscious, asking this question, but the chest was held by a nest carved in the wall, and looked like it had been here for a long time.

"You can take anything here Mister Potter, as long as it belongs to you. There's no fee for that" baring his teeth, the goblin looked like he thought it should. Nevertheless, he kept talking, business-like. "Of course, should you prefer this removal not to be mentioned in our books, it is perfectly manageable, although there is a fee for that."

"Thanks."

Harry turned back again to the chest. It was taunting him, daring him to open it. His throat constricted, conflicted between the urge to open it, and the dread of what he could find. Maybe his parents had left him something before they died? They had known Voldemort was after them, maybe they had made arrangements. Casting a brief glance to the door, where the imperturbable goblin had resumed his guard, still facing outwards, he made sure he would be alone to open the chest.

The dark brown of the wood was carved exquisitely, giving the chest's surface a rune-like aspect. The edges were reinforced with night blue metal, and united on the front side, in a silver swirl. At the swirl centre was a small square whose flat surface, absolutely spotless, stood up. A sharp, razor-looking edge made the top of the square. Mesmerized, Harry passed his hand on the chest, looking for any lock. There was none. His attention drawn back to the silver square, Harry tried probing it, or pushing it aside to reveal a concealed lock, but failed. As he pressed once more his hand on the top of the square, he cut himself on the edge. The surprise made him swear, and he brought his injured finger to his mouth. He stopped halfway, as the swirl's tendrils were slowly filling up with his blood. He hadn't cut himself that much, so the chest must be augmenting magically his blood. Harry frowned, unsure of what to do next.

The chest hummed softly, while some sound – almost like heavy metal rods moving and clattering – could be heard faintly. After a few second, it stopped, and Harry, holding his breath, moved his hand again. Before he could touch it, the chest opened, revealing a yellowish envelope, made of parchment, posed on top of seven silver handles – the three lined on the right echoed the three on the left, while the centre was held by the bigger one. The letter read:

_To Harry James Potter_

With a shacking hand, Harry took it. Taking in a deep breath, he broke the seal, a stylized hammer in a circle of flames, and began to read the letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you read this letter, it means we are not here to tell its content by ourselves, and for that we are sorry. Sorry that you had to grow up with someone else, someone not from your family – although, if things go according to plan, you would have grown up with Sirius, which means you would have been raised by someone exactly like James, only fluffier and less good at flying. He had probably spent his time telling you stories about the Marauder's pranks, but the plan was to have Remus rein him in a little, so that you would not be ignorant of anything besides practical jokes. Say hello to Moony and Padfoot for us, please. And to Peter, we hope he gained some assurance with the years._

_This letter was not meant only to pass greeting from beyond, Harry. We write this letter as you are playing with your first birthday's presents (you seem to particularly like the green snake we got you, which worries James – he says he won't have a Slytherin of a son, but don't worry, we love you too much not to let you live your life. Besides, you love charming snakes, just as much as you charm pretty much everybody: Sirius has taken to calling you 'womaniser', and the brat is particularly happy with himself). We know Voldemort is after us, as we did anything we could to stop him – we know Sirius will bathe you in stories of Lily's "amazing little spell work" at Ironbridge Gorge – so he must have gotten his way. We know you'll be seeking revenge, but we implore you, don't do it until you're ready._

_If you want to train, go see Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody. He'll be willing to, if he's still around, more so than Dumbledore, who will try to protect you. Respect Albus, even if his opinion and yours differ – he was the man that trained us and let us in the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius can teach you a few tricks that can be deadly surprising to Death Eaters, but if you want to really be ready and stand a chance, look into the chest we put this letter in._

_This chest has been into the Potter family for as long as we were around, and it even existed before, when it wasn't our surname. Only blood relatives of the original maker can open it, which is why you had to offer some to open it. But you'll only have to do it once, as the chest will attune to your magical signature from then on: simply pass your hand in front of the Eye – the silver swirl on the front side. The seven silver handles open a different compartment, magically augmented and separated from the others. You can put almost anything in it – although if you have to keep a live animal inside, choose the ones of the right side, the left one are too small to leave them enough space. The far left handle reveals a notebook, which contains every use of the chest we've been able to uncover, but we suspect there are much more. You'll get the instructions for using the central handle in it._

_There are weapons in the chest, as well as the way to create more. We cannot tell more, in case this letter is intercepted as we bring it to Gringotts, but look out in the notebook._

_If all these horrors of the past are behind you as you grow up, then we'll rest in peace. Have fun at Hogwarts, and try to study from time to time. We love you, now and always, and will always be with you not matter what._

_Love, your parents_

_Lily and James_

_Ps; Sirius just asked if your animagus form is a cute little rabbit, 'a raving beast of seduction'. Show him what you can do for us, okay? Cheers_

_PPs; Harry, I have a sister, a muggle, who lives in London. She's married to an Edmond Dursley. I know Sirius doesn't like her much, but she's my only family, and she might want to talk to her nephew. Go see her and give her my best please. Love, Lily._

Harry was overwhelmed by emotions. Reading this letter, he was reminded of how much his parents had been passionately alive, living happily with their friends, and of how little he knew about them and their life together. Seeing the names of Sirius and Remus come up had also moved him deeply; the Marauders had been close even after leaving Hogwarts. The injustice of the separation, forced by Dumbledore, brought tears of rage to his eyes, even if he knew the old man had had his reasons for doing so. And to see Pettigrew's name in this letter, where his parents didn't know he was going to be the traitor that sold then to their death! Once again, fury flared through Harry's chest, overtaking his senses for a brief instant.

Opening the left handle, he discovered a great many parchments, seemingly thrown in without care or ordering. On top of it was a unremarkable volume, whose title read

Of the working of the chest of Balliol the Elder,

And other uses discovered by his progeny

Harry took the book with him, caressing the leather cover which bore the same seal as his parent's letter. He closed the chest, and tried to move it away from its alcove, but the chest wouldn't budge. Taking his wand, Harry tried to levitate it away, but that also failed. At a loss, he turned to the goblin for help, only to find his eyes tracking him.

"No wizard magic can be performed inside Gringotts, Mister Potter. That is why it is so safe from thieves."

"I could use your help, if you please, then. I'm taking this chest with me, as well as the gold in this satchel."

Harry stepped back as the goblin merely snapped his fingers, levitating effortlessly the chest out of his bay in the wall. Turning to get back to the rail car, he waited for Harry, who was still lost in his thoughts, then closed the vault behind them. Harry was reflecting on what he had just saw; apparently, Goblin's magic was wordless and wandless. How such a feat could be accomplished astonished him.

"As I understood, Mister would like to be able to transport this chest on his own, and intruders deceived about the nature of this latter object?" Harry acquiesced with a nod, and the goblin, suddenly smiling, motioned him to the car. "Right this way then, Mister."

Without ever changing its way or taking any route but the one they came by, the trolley climbed to the surface, through the caves. But when they arrived, they didn't stopped in the marble hall Harry had come to expect, but in very different room, where the only furniture was a long wooden table, set between the railway and an discrete apparition spot. The goblin stopped the car, and put the chest on the table.

"Now, Mister Potter, I see hear a remarkable family heirloom, of the finest magical sort, and an esteemed customer leaving with it. Gringotts and all associated goblins would be happy to forget it leaved our vault for the modest sum of one hundred galleons. Payable now."

Harry, having no choice but to do as said, removed the gold coins from his bags, and gave it to a very euphoric goblin.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Potter."

"About that, is there a way to withdraw money or to access my vault without coming to Diagon Alley?"

"It is perfectly possible to do so without setting foot in Diagon Alley, sir, but impossible without coming into Gringotts. What you can do, is to stop by any of our local branches, where you'll find an apparition spot that is designed to lead you in a personal, inviolable apparition chamber, just like this one. From here you can conduct any financial operation of your liking, before leaving back to the place where you left from, incognito. Everything is made to accommodate our customers, as long" the goblin bared his teeth at the last part "as wizards do not try to double-cross us." The threat of his last statement was hardly concealed, reminding Harry that wizard-goblins wars were not history for everybody.

Thanking the goblin, Harry shrank the chest into his backpack, relieved to see that his magic was working again in the chamber, and then stepped in the apparition circle.

Half a second later, he materialized in the Leaky Cauldron, where he booked a room for the night, and went straight to it, intending to read the notebook and explore the chest before leaving to Godric's Hollow next morning.

As far as he understood that night, before tiredness finally won, was that part of the chest behaved just like any magically enlarged trunk, or like the one Moody possessed, which revealed a different compartment depending on which lock was pulled. The central handle, however, was the masterpiece of the chest, the joy and pride of his creator. This Balliol, who must have live more than a thousand years ago judging by his archaic English, had designed it to work just like the Chamber of Requirements in Hogwarts. The endless possibilities it opened were somehow diminished by the warning Harry had read in the notebook: according to its authors, the magic needed to operate it was not of the wizarding kind. Try as he might, Harry drifted off at this point of his readings, and couldn't get all of it before the night took him.

In the still sleeping village of Godric's Hollow, a hooded figure suddenly appeared, out of thin air, with the very first light of the sunrise. The silhouette made its way to the centre of the village, as if unsure of its way. Casting back its hood, Harry stood in front of the main plaza's fountain, trying to get a grip on his storming emotions. The village looked like a regular, muggle one, and Harry didn't know where his parents' house was, nor if there still was something at all. Fervently hopping a museum of some kind hadn't been built, not willing to deal with a Creevey-like frenzy right now, he checked a map of the village. There was nothing on it betraying the magical world, and the only thing he learnt that the village was apparently a prized spot for outdoor activities throughout the region, many parking lots being reserved to tourists.

Advising the nearby cliffs, he decided to go there until he found a way to his parents' place. As he left the village, coming near the edge of the land, he saw a large grove, from which strange looking masts rose, carrying things that looked suspiciously like baskets. Hope flaring, Harry ran to the small forest, relieved to see some trace of his world still left in the village he was born. But when he entered the playing field, he understood no one had been here in a long time. The weed had grown wild, and some of the goals were bent, aiming to the sea, as if torn by a furious wind. Absent-minded, Harry let his gaze trail in that direction, only to find the ruins of a house, blown from the inside.

Heading to the house, Harry started running as he crossed the field. The house's walls were scorched, as if long flames had burnt them down. Only the exterior wall stood up, and then only halfway to the first floor, which could only be guessed to have ever existed thanks to a destroyed staircase in the back of the house. Harry passed around the house, making for where the door used to be. The outside paint of the wall was still white here, and the only thing lying on the pathway that linked the house to the nearby road was a bronze plaque, nailed to the floor, on which Harry read the following words.

Here lived the Potters

James, Lily and Harry

They were attacked and murdered by Voldemort,

In his last crime before he was banished by the Boy Who Lived

May they rest in peace in a world ridden of Evil by their sacrifice.

Harry brushed his fingertips on the plaque, closing his eyes to pay his respects. Rising on his feet once again, he gazed at the house, looking at it with new eyes. He tried hard to summon any souvenir he had of his life here, but he was bound to fail, the only thing brought up were his parents' dying cries. Shaking his head, he passed the commemorative plaque and entered his house. The place reeked of death, and nothing here indicated it was once a happy place. Harry felt like he was the ghost, wandering in a universe that wasn't his. As he drew closer to the centre of the house, he noticed two marble stone that had escaped him previously. Unable to utter a sound, Harry walked to his parents' grave. He was glad they had been buried in the place they had lived together, isolated from the madness of the world, and that no one had desecrated the spot since.

Kneeling, Harry cleaned the surface of the stone, removing the dust and the lime that had crawled on it. To the left, his mother. To the right, his father. Their stones were barely separated, and Harry knew, somehow, that they had been buried together by their friends. Sorrow filled Harry, and, yet, it was balanced by the letter he had read the day before, and was still present to his mind. They had been happy, and that was more than he could ask for. He missed them so much, though, that he couldn't contain a single tear from rolling. He let it slip, coming down his cheek, until it feel on the earth at his feet.

Harry thought of his tribute to Dumbledore, when he had conjured, somehow, a flash of light to honour his fallen headmaster. He wanted to do something for his parents, something special that would have meanings for the three of them. And then, he remembered what Dumbledore himself had told him, the night he saved Sirius from the dememtors. "_Do you think the dead we love ever truly leave us? Your father is alive in you, Harry. Prongs rode again last night."_

Drawing his wand, Harry spoke, his voice high and loud.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The silver mist coming from his wand quickly solidified in a majestic stag, who bowed once to Harry, before walking slowly to Jame's resting place. It brought its muzzle to it, breathing at the base of the tomb. The stag then looked at Harry, and motioned Lily's grave, before looking at Harry, as if expecting him to catch up.

"I…I can't. I can't change my patronus just like that…And you'll disappear…"

Undaunted, the stag made the same move again. The stillness of the place, unperturbed, was only broken by Harry's erratic breathing. The stag was still staring at him. Inspiring deeply, Harry grounded his feet on the floor, pushing aside the dust. Squaring his shoulders, he looked straight at his mother's name, carved on the marble. He summoned everything that reminded him of her, her voice, her photograph, and let it spin in his head. Sensing the right moment approaching, he stopped breathing, raised his wand to the sky, and look directly at the stag, as if to make him witness. He didn't spoke the incantation aloud, relying on his feelings alone. If his mother was still here with him, like his father was, he didn't need a spell to summon her.

This time, he felt the magic racing through his arm, originating from his chest and crawling to his wand. Willing it to succeed, to morph into his mother, Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on the process. Only when he felt it was done did he open his eyes again. In front of his, a joyful silver doe was playing in the grass. Nonplussed, Harry watched the stag bouncing around, welcoming the doe, brushing his neck against hers. They came back to the spot where Harry was watching them, gaping.

"Mom?...Is that you?"

The doe inclined her head once, then raised it slowly, as if burdened by sadness. Understanding, Harry caressed her head, and nodded to the stag, before turning to the grave. His parents were dead, and weren't coming back as ghost. Still, he found comfort in the fact that so long after their deaths, they were still with him, somehow watching over him.

Suddenly, both patronuses turned their head to the road, behind Harry. Noticing it, Harry turned slowly, gauging their reaction. They were defiant, the stag's feet anchored to the ground, defending his home, while the doe was crouching, as if ready to spring, charging the intruder. Harry, wand still in his hand, crouched too, before addressing the trespasser.

"Who's here? Show yourself!" Nothing but the silence answered him. Nodding to the doe, Harry let her run to the road, where she charged the person hiding behind the low wall that enclosed the property.

"Hey, lower your wand, Harry! I don't want to hurt you!"

As soon as the voice rose in the air, Harry's fury flared so quickly he almost had to fight back the urge to growl. Wormtail! The rat had the nerve to come to him here, of all place! The traitor, the very man because of whom his parents laid in the earth right next to him! The fury was replaced by fierce joy, for today he would finally avenge them.

"Come, coward! Come, and at last face somebody in duel! Come, if you dare!" Shouting, Harry drew closer to the wall, intending to bust out the Death Eater.

"Harry no! I don't want to hurt you!" The man's squeal came from behind the wall, where he was trying to escape to the doe. Harry called her back – it was his job to finish the traitor off. Seeing an opening, Wormtail passed half of his head up the wall. The man had distinctively lost weight since the last time Harry had seen him, and looked unhealthy, as if eaten alive by fear and resentment.

"I want to talk to you. You let me, you'll learn what you want; you don't, and I press this" he drew his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "and a lot of my friends pop up! Now, will you…"

He was cut off as Harry, driven crazy by his taunts, had blast part of the wall.

"I will kill you, Wormtail! I will kill you for what you did to my parents and to Sirius! What could you possibly have to say that would hold any interest for me? Reducto!" Another part of the wall was blown in a loud crack.

"Snape! I want to talk about Snape!"

Harry mind's raced. Wormtail had struck at the only thing that could force Harry to pause to listen to him. Cautious not to lower his wand, Harry gestured his two patronus to stand guard on each side of the road, in case anyone was attracted by the noise of the incoming duel.

"Spit it out! What do you have to say about Snape?"

"He has risen high in the Dark Lord's esteem since he killed Dumbledore…"

A snarl came to Harry's lips before he could help it. Hearing Wormtail speaking of it as it was nothing ironed his resolve to deal with the wicked man. He would make him pay for that too. But Pettigrew seemed to understand his thinking.

"Ahah, Harry, none of that!" his silver hand drew closer to his tattoo on his left forearm. "Lest I call my friends!"

"Quit calling them your 'friends'. They're not, and I know you'd rather not call them and explain why you were here!"

"I'm here on the Dark Lord's order! He values my advice, and only tasks me with missions of the outmost importance!" Wormtail, however taunting his words were, had paled considerably. "He charged me with following you! I took the same train as you from Edinburgh to London, but apparated when you said you were coming here."

It was Harry's turn to pale, remembering how he had indeed heard the distinctive 'pop' of apparition, but dismissed him. Mentally scolding himself, he turned his attention to his enemy.

"All right, I'll listen to you. What do you have to say?"

Wormtail, reassured but the way thing seemed to be heading, stood fully up, although he remained behind the wall. Not pretending to pay any attention to what he was doing, Harry moved on, a few steps to the right.

"So, as I was saying, Snape…is – er, the new favourite of the Dark Lord. Not even Lucius, after his failure at the Ministry, can pretend to the same place."

Still quiet, Harry moved to his right again. He silently asked the stag for help, and the patronus crossed quickly the road, as if oblivious to the human's conversation, but his movement alone had distracted Peter, who nervously glanced to it, while Harry seized the opportunity to trade softly, again a few steps to the right. Just a few more steps and he would have a clear shot at the Death Eater. Just as Peter frowned, Harry hurried to distract him.

"So you want me to take care of him for you, is that it?" Wanting for the answer, Harry froze on the spot. If it hadn't worked and Wormtail had noticed, he was a sitting target, out in the open, in case the death eater called for backup.

"Why, yes. It would only be expected by the Dark Lord, and I would be clear of all suspicion."

Harry paused. If he could obtain Snape's location this way, he could deal with him much sooner than expected, and Dumbledore's death would be repaid in kind. Bowing his head, he circled, lost in his thoughts. Two steps on the left, he paused to look at his parents' grave. Four steps on the right, he turned to face Wormtail. There! He had his shot! Now, all it would take would be a little more patience, and then retribution would come.

"Okay, tell me where he is, and I will catch him."

Peter Pettigrew smiled, obviously relived.

"I don't know where he is every day, but the mission the Dark Lord has entrusted him with," The venom in his voice has almost palpable, making him pause to spit on the ground. "takes him to Stonehenge. There is something there the Dark Lord wants to be removed, to better protect it. Snapes takes a team of five to investigate it, he was there all of last week, but to no avail. He's bound to go back, the Dark Lord made it very clear he won't accept fail…"

"Stupefy!"

As the red flash caught him square into the chest, he tripped behind, falling into the mud, an expression of disbelief on his face. But then again, Pettigrew had never been a fighter, and Harry was driven by rage and loss, adding considerable power to his already valuable duelling reflexes. He ran to the fallen form, jumping over the edge of the wall. The stag and the doe came by him, their blank faces expressing nothing. Conjuring ropes, Harry tied Pettigrew tightly, not caring much about being gentle. His parents would finally be avenged, and Sirius' name cleared completely. He would see to it.

Harry walked to his parents' grave. Picking up the few weeds that had unfolded back to cover it, he made sure the house was undisturbed by the brief fight. He took in everything he could, trying to stored away each little detail, not wanting to forget anything. He glanced at the Quidditch field, whishing he had grown up here, playing with his father, Ron, Ginny and all his friends and family. The patronuses came by him, each one on a different side. They tried to brush him with their head, but their ghostly form passed through him, and when Harry tried to caress them back, they disappeared, leaving only a glittering mist in their wake. The haze surrounded him for a brief instant, and then it too vanished as the wind flew. Harry was left alone with the stupefied form of Petter Pettigrew.

As he left Godric's Hollow, his resolve hardened, Harry prepared to apparate to the Ministry of Magic to drop Pettigrew there. It would be his last stop on the road. He was going hunting Horcruxes.

There was just a hitch to this plan: to be sure Wormtail was going to be taken care of, Harry had to let him in the right hands. Which meant he had to contact Arthur Weasley. Which meant he had to involve Ginny…


	3. Chapter 3: Twilight Omens

Hi! Welcome back to the third chapter of _Le Morte d'Harry Potter_! On today's menu, a mysterious boy, Harry and Ginny, and the discovery of the first horcruxe in Stonehenge…

The next chapter should be up next Wednesday. Until then, good reading, and don't forget to add your review if you like it, and especially if you don't like something!

Chapter 3; **TWILIGHT OMENS**

It was still early in the morning when he came out of the house he had found shelter in. Yawning, he stretched, and then readjusted his clothes as the cold morning made him shiver. The linen trousers and the plain black t-shirt he was wearing were not enough, even for the summer. He didn't care. He wasn't here to rest or to sunbath. He was here to train, and nothing else. He was here to make Voldemort pay to the hundredfold for what he did to his parents. As he went down the trail, the very first sunray came up, caressing the boy's skin as he warmed up. He ran in the woods for more than half an hour, and then came back to the house, reciting all the jinxes, spells, and curses he could think of that he'd use against the Death Eaters.

Once there, he rested for a short while with his legs crossed on the stone floor that led to his house. He tried to relax, breathing in and out, paying as much attention as possible to his surroundings, eyes shut. Bringing out his wand, which he had strapped to his left forearm while he was running, he pointed it out, aiming at the sound that was coming from behind a nearby tree. It was one of the three sounds he had heard. He guessed it was some sort of a small rabbit, or a big forest rodent, just like the second sound, which was coming from his right, next to the corner of the house. He assumed the third one was a bird, singing on a nearby tree. Still concentrating with his eyes closed, he took a sharp breath in, locked his jaw, and fired a stupefy spell at the closest sound, before aiming as fast as possible to the second, which he tried to incinerate, then to the third, which he stupefied. Opening his eyes, he checked out his success. He had managed to stupefy the rabbit, but he had aimed at the wrong branch, only scaring the bird away and setting the entire tree on fire. As to the third sound, it left when it saw the light of the two spells, and the spell had only left a blackened spot on the floor.

The teenager frowned. He was going to need a lot more training if he wanted to infiltrate Voldemort's lair. But he had set his mind to this precise goal, and would dedicate everything to it. And he would use every weapon he could get his hand on to achieve it.

"Hi Ginny, it's me, Harry! Of course you know who I am, how dumb can I get!" Harry hit his forehead with his hand. "Great. She's gonna kill me for coming back just to ask for her father, then she's gonna resurrect me and kill me again if she thinks I'm insulting her."

He circled the extinguished fire he had used in his improvised camp the night before. He had woken up early, but was still stuck at how he was supposed to tell Ginny to contact her father for him. Peter Pettigrew was still stupefied, his face frozen in disbelief at being attacked by Harry. Harry had glared at him all evening long, his face hardening as the minutes passed. Disgust overwhelmed him, until he couldn't stand it any longer, and rolled Wormtail out of the clearing they were staying for the night. For the rest of the silent evening, Harry had resumed reading the instruction manual for the chest he had found in his bank vault. Based on what he learnt that night, Balliol had in fact played a part in Muggle history, around the XIIIth century, but had lost to his opponent, and withdrawn from the world. He had devised this chest, as his 'legacy', intending his progeny to continue his efforts to win in the end. When he had died, however, nothing had progressed toward this particular goal. On the other hand, though Harry, that couldn't really be considered as a failure; he had managed to create a miniaturized version of the Camber of Requirement… That was the purpose of the central handle; though the six others were just 'regular' chest compartments, magically enhanced to contain more than met the eye, they only gave back what the owner had placed there previously. The central handle could provide almost anything, as long as the request was defined by the owner. From what Harry understood, it relied more on the demander's willpower than the Chamber back in Hogwarts, which could tap into the castle magical resources to create what was asked.

Impressive as the chest was, and Harry had spent most of his evening trying the possibilities out, like a kid on Christmas day, it couldn't solve the Wormtail problem for him, nor could it speak to Ginny for him.

Harry had played with the idea of just sending an owl to Ginny, just to avoid the awkward moment that was coming up, but had ultimately rejected the idea – however appealing, he couldn't do that to her, and he didn't have an owl with him anyway, as he had left Hedwig at Hogwarts. Sighting, he accepted there was no other way but to face her, and silently prepared to leave. And though he hated see her in such circumstances, part of him was relieved at the prospect of seeing her now, much sooner than what he'd expected. Transmuting the chest so as to make it fit into his backpack, he threw his invisibility cloak over Pettigrew's stupefied form, and, with a last glance to his camp, apparated back to Hogwarts.

Harry arrived on the lake's edge opposite to Hogwarts, not knowing exactly where the magical wards of the castle were. Casting Wormtail on the ground, he contemplated kicking him before levitating him, but dropped the idea, figuring it would stain his cloak. He made his way to the castle, only stopping to send his patronuses to warn of his arrival. He instructed them to search for Ginny, although there as little chance they'd find her without anyone seeing or interfering. Waiting for them to come back, he waited, next to the small cove where they had often spent time alone sooner in the year. The memories the place brought up were welcomed by Harry, who tried to make the most of it, in spite of their bittersweet tone, before Ginny could show up.

When she did, he was sat on the ground, with Pettigrew, still stupefied under his invisibility cloak, by his side. The footstep betrayed her arrival long before she was actually there, disturbing the mid-morning silence of the forest. Harry got on his feet to greet her, fighting the urge to smile as she approached. He had only been away for two days, but just seeing her was making him realise how much he had missed her. The smile broadened in a large grin, while the monster in his chest was roaring. Ginny's silhouette had drawn closer, and he could now see her, gazing at her in earnest. What he saw made the smile disappear immediately. Ginny's face was closed, her lips sealed in a thin, steel-like line.

Shifting on his feet, Harry suddenly remembered his fears about involving her, and his reluctance at using her.

"Hermione saw your patronus, and she told me to follow it. Who's the other person?" Her voice, like her expression, was carefully held in check. Harry could see she was not letting out what she really felt. He couldn't, however, make up his mind about whether this was good for him or very bad.

"There's nobody here with me." Wincing, Harry amended, reluctantly. "I produced both patronuses myself. How…"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not stupid, Harry. Nobody can produce two patronuses!" The surprise made Ginny's carefully monitored mask slip, for a brief instant, before she could compose herself. She promptly went back to a frown.

Harry knew anything he could say would only alienate her further. Dismissing his patronuses, he summoned then back wordlessly, watching Ginny. She was shocked, her mouth silently opening. Gasping, she looked him right in the eyes.

"What happened? What did you do?" The mask was no longer here, concern could be felt in her voice. Harry felt as if a heavy weight was lifted from him, relieving him of his worries. She still cared, even after his rejection of her after Dumbledore's burial!

"I went to Godric's Hollow, to see my parents. My parents' graves" Harry had to amend himself, but it felt wrong in his mouth, the feeling of loss still fresh in his mouth, and exacerbated by the turmoil he had felt the day before when he was actually on the spot of his parents' death. "And there I remembered Dumbledore though my patronus was actually what was left in me of my father. When I conjured him in their house, the stag prompted me to tried and summon the doe. I was as surprised as you are that it worked." Letting his voice trail, he didn't immediately follow up with the tale of how Wormtail had showed up at that moment, because not doing so would postpone a bit his own departure. And now that he was here, he didn't want to leave Ginny. So, hesitantly, he looked at her, nudging a small rock with his foot.

"What's up with you guys? What did you do?"

It was Ginny's turn to look at the ground between them. Though concern could still be found in her eyes, her mouth had gone back to the hard line it was when she had arrived. She looked like she was debating over whether or not to tell him something, but seemed to think better of it in the end. Worry creased Harry's forehead. Their relation used to be easy, each of them understanding the other without much being said. But now it was strained, their bodies reacting weirdly, as if longing for the other as well as turning outward, readying to leave.

Without thinking, Harry drew closer to her, half-raising his arms, yearning to take her in his arms.

"Ginny…I've missed you"

Ginny closed her eyes tight, so tight they almost disappeared under her frown. Balancing slowly, she seemed to resume her previous debating. When she opened her eyes, a second later, they were hard.

"Is that why you came here? Two days ago, it was too dangerous for me to go with you, and now you're back and expect me to come running at you just like nothing had happened?" she gestured at his raised arms, still waiting for an embrace. "I told you I'm not like that, Harry. I'm not the quiet girl just waiting for my man to come home with a hot meal on his table." The tone raised steadily throughout her complains, until she was almost shouting at him. "Unless you are here to take me with you," her voice broke at that point, and she drew closer, stopping only when she was one step away from a thunderstruck Harry, whose arm were still ready to hug her. When she began again, her voice was much softer, almost a warm whisper. "and then I'm sorry I said anything. But otherwise," her voice grew back to the hard tone she had been using "I think you'd better leave now Harry."

_Oh crap_ was all Harry could think about. _Well, in for a toe, in for the leg…_Nervous, he passed his hand in his hair.

"Well, actually, I'm not here for tha…" He never finished his sentence as Ginny quickly closed the gap between them and slapped him.

Tears came from her eyes that she ragingly pushed away from the back of her hand. Still shaking from anger, and betrayal, she looked straight in his eyes, no longer making any effort to dry her tears.

"What is it you want then, Potter?" The way she uttered his name reminded Harry of how Malefoy used to say it, almost making a swearword out of it.

Her pain struck Harry more than her slap had, and his cheek was still red for it. He knew he was hurting her, but couldn't come back now.

"I captured Wormtail. I'd like to give him to the Ministry, but I want him to be judged, not released immediately, so I thought…" He left his sentence hanging, witnessing the havoc it wrecked on Ginny's face. Bowing his head, he followed. "I'm sorry I'm causing you pain Ginny. That's not that I want. And I don't think of you that way."

"Well that's too late for that, Harry." Her voice was still hard, her eyes had closed. "Where is he? I'll drop a word to dad."

Harry silently walked to where Pettigrew was, and unfolded him from behind his cloak. Ginny supressed a shout, but quickly regained her posture. Nodding her consent, she walked over to him, and grabbed Wormtail by his shoulder.

"Anything else?" Half-turned to leave, she faced Harry, a fierce expression on her face. Harry longed so hard for her it ached in his chest, and yet there was nothing he could do to appease her.

"Not right now, no. Ginny…" He didn't try to get closer to her. He knew she wouldn't want him to, and never did he deserve it. But his tone was still pleading when he addressed her a last time. "…I'll write to you. I'll make it up, I promise."

She departed without a word, leaving Harry behind, part of his mind wishing he'd have the guts to actually run after her and kiss her senselessly, while another part fervently wished Hermione hadn't gotten out of her way to reunite them.

Harry left Hogwarts soon after Ginny departed, not wanting to see any of his friends after the fiasco his visit had been. When he apparated, some part of him was happy that his next goal was Snape, because that meant he would be able to do something to forget the whole episode. Beyond that, however, he didn't have a clue about how he was going to take down his former Potion Master. Their previous and rather brief duel had left harry with a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He knew Snape was an accomplished Dark Wizard, who had three major advantages on him: he was one of Voldemort's Inner Circle, which meant he was a very powerful wizard, he was skilled in non-verbal spells, and, worst of all, he had already proven his capacity to invent spells. Beside his guts and his desire for vengeance, Harry had nothing. And yet, blinded by concern for the state he had just left Ginny in, he shrugged off the growing worry in his mind, hoping to pull something off when the time came.

When he apparated somewhere not too far away from Stonehenge, he crouched to the ground, holding his breath. After a few seconds, when he was sure no one had noticed him, he rose on his feet, and scanned his surroundings. The site, some three hundred feet in front of him, was situated at the crossroad of two routes, and consisted of the actual site and a nearby museum. Judging it was his best shot at remaining unsuspicious, Harry melted in the tourist bands, who were coming down from their buses, and entered the museum's lobby. There was no security Harry could spot, and the number of Muggle in the area made him unsure of why Voldemort would hide one bit of his soul here.

Yet, as soon as Harry made his way out of the tunnel was led to the ancient stones, he understood why the Dark Lord would choose such a spot. The site was acting like a pool of energy, so massed and so pure it made Harry shiver despite himself. The place literally compelled the reverence, like a shrine would, but there was an underlining presence there that almost seemed alive. But the presence was aloof, more alien than anything Harry had ever encountered in his life. Searching in his memory, Harry compared the feeling to what he had felt the last time he had been in presence of a genuine horcruxe – Tom Riddle's diary – or been were where one had been stoked for so long – the cave Voldemort had designed to hold his locket – but came empty-handed. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, steadying his breathing, he could almost make the difference between the two feelings that the site evoked in him.

The first one was derived from the majesty of the stone themselves, standing for so long they had all but developed contempt for ephemeral events or beings such as the humans that day after day danced around them in a tightly controlled ballet of flashlights and raincoats. The stones told of the days of old, when mankind was attuned to nature, living by the harsh law of the seasons and the random gains of the hunt, but also told of the days of wonder, when the druids were still amongst the livings, and tattooed shamans praised the gods and controlled the elements. And such was their own meaning, from the day they were erected until the end of time, to stand tall and proud, testimony of the once greatness of things that are gone with the wind, but still leave grains in our thoughts and legends.

The other one, however, pulled Harry from the awe the stones had induced him in, like the angry water pull back the helpless cast in the storm, only to better wreck him on the coast. It was the malign presence that swamped the whole compound, drowning it into the cold and icy winds. The alien spirit whispered to the primal core of the visitors, many of which confused it with the devotion inspired by the site's history. There was, however, a wizard in their numbers, and that wizard suddenly felt very exposed, as if he was the unknowing prey walking right into the den of its worst predator.

Still moving with the crowd, Harry walked unconspicuously from stone to stone, touching the monolith he was closest to as often as possible. A bored guide told him once or twice not to, ranting about how tourist had no respect whatsoever with things of the past, but Harry didn't pay attention to him. He was having a near mystical experience, surrounded by the energy the stone pillars were giving off. Now he was standing in the middle of the circle, he could make out every one of them, and yet still feel them brushing him, like great invisible tentacles of bare energy. In their core, Harry was almost shielded from the other presence, and had all but forgotten its existence when he stepped in the exact middle of the grass crown.

He was hit instantly by the full-blown power of the other presence as soon as he set foot on a small yellow patch of grass located at the exact middle of the stone circle. The force of it made him reel, unable to control himself. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach by a spell, but fought to maintain his balance. When he totally regained his composure, he noticed a small silver snake which was staring at him. As soon as it understood Harry had spotted it, it vanished, as if it had never been there. Looking around, Harry saw he was the only one to see a snake, though the nearest tourist was but two feet away. This last element achieved to convince him this was no natural snake, and that it was somehow guarding whatever the ground held at this spot. But Harry would have sworn that it was Voldemort's Horcruxe. Still, it remained strange that he would have chosen such an open location to be the custodian of one part of his soul. And stranger still, why weren't there any Death Eater or magical barrier of any kind? That didn't look like Voldemort at all, and that worried Harry.

Deciding there wasn't much more he could gain by staying there, he left the site when the tourists did, only separating from them when they mounted in their buses. He walked silently, paying attention to any potential follower, and finally arrived to the remote spot he had chosen to wait for the evening. He would come back to take the Horcruxe and fight Snape, if he showed up. He debated for a brief instant on what to choose if he had to pick one or the other, and reluctantly agreed the horcruxe was more important in the long run. His pent-up emotions could wait.

When the night came, and with it a light fog, Harry prepared for his sortie. He dyed his hair in a white-blond shade, covered it with a hood, transfigured his Gryffindor scarf so that it would turn black, and put it over his mouth to conceal his features. He also dyed his hoodie in black, and checked his backpack was solidly fixed on his back. The chest was still in, and the last thing Harry wanted was to loose it in the incoming fight.

Leaving his temporary camp, Harry softly traded until he was near Stonehenge, hiding in the road's verge. Only part of his head stood up from the ground, and it was barely distinguishable in the falling night. Seeking cover, Harry drew his want and silently cast a few spells to augment the size and the opacity of the fog. He continued to do so for a few seconds, then gave up and whispered the incantation, obtaining instantly better results. He knew Hermione would have frowned at his feeble attempts, but now was not the time. Swiftly raising, he ran to the other side of the road, were he hit the ground as soon as there was enough grass to hide his body. From there, he crawled silently to the fence that encircled the site, his wand at the ready. Once he was just in front of it, he wished for the fourth time today he had his invisibility cloak, but he had left it with Ginny.

Checking carefully if he was alone, Harry stood up once more and ran, half-crouched, to the outer part of the perimeter, where the roads were the most distant. Panting, he rested his back on the fence's pole. Nothing could be seen near or inside the stone's circle, and the car park was all but desert. The only car there was the vigil's, who Harry had seen entering the building half an hour before departing. The guard was in his late fifties, and fitness and thrill were probably two words he had long forgotten. Nothing was to be feared from him as long as Harry maintained a low profile.

Putting his wand in his mouth, Harry stood up, still leaning on the fence. With a last glance around, he turned, grasped the metal wire with both his hands, and kicked hard the ground to climb over the palisade. He cleared the obstacle in two jumps, one to attain the top of it, and another one to reach, with a low thud, the ground on the other side. As he let himself slip into the compound, he opened his mouth and let his wand fall so that, when he rose inside, it was once again in his hand, scanning for any suspicious noise or shadow. The whole movement had only lasted four seconds, and nothing had happened, but Harry's heart was beating loud in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears.

Still bent and progressing in irregular zigzags, he made his way to the centre of the construction, where he had felt the strongest effects of the Horcruxe. He stopped dead in his track, fifteen inches from the burnt grass that marked the emplacement of the horcruxe, and got on his knees. This was there, earlier this day, that he had felt the strongest connection to the benefits of the energy emitted by the monoliths. He wanted to rest for a few minutes before stepping out of the cyclone eye and into the angry void of the dark arts.

Getting back on his feet, Harry crossed steadily the last part of the ground. His resolve had hardened. This was what Dumbledore had wanted him to do, what he was destined to do. Facing the darkness of Voldemort's action was his purpose, and he had willingly accepted to purpose the Prophecy had marked him for. Gritting his teeth, he let a low grumble of defiance mount in him, and put his right hand on the exact spot the snake had stood on.

He felt like he had put his hand in the frozen waters of the lake in the cave Dumbledore and him had gone to hunt for the first Horcruxe. The cold washed through him, so painful it actually felt like his skin was burning. Harry clenched his teeth, but made no other move. He let the cold sweep all the way to his shoulder, searching the ground with his fingers. The cold eventually changed, and the uniform icy wave broke into swirling currents. Each current was like a frozen thread poking his skin, circling until it squeezed Harry's arm. By then, Harry had clenched his right fist on the ground, and had gave up searching for the Horcruxe, concentrating only on removing whatever was on his arm. But he couldn't see anything he was felling. Slowly, the currents on his arm solidified, and some joined together, until there was only a dozen left on his arm. By then, the current were behaving more like snakes ensnaring their prey, and had started expanding on his chest. The cold feeling shook Harry with long, unrestrained goose bumps and shivering. His mind racing, he tried anything he could think of, but the cold had paralyzed him, nailing him to the ground and making his wand arm useless. Refusing to give him to despair, Harry snarled, shaking his arm.

As soon as he had snarled, a low hiss rose from the ground. The cold feeling stopped expanding, and the tentacles he felt poked tentatively around, without moving any further, as if taken by hesitation. Quickly assessing it, Harry frowned. If Voldemort was still faithful to what he had used in the past, he would be using snakes to protect one of his horcruxes. He had done it already with the Chamber of Secrets, why not try it twice? Closing his eyes with the concentration, Harry tried to speak Parseltongue. The low hiss erupting from his lips marked his success, and he opened his eyes, addressing the invisible snakes on his arm and chest.

"_Stop it! I order you to stop what you are doing, and let me be in peace!"_ he poured every authority he had in his command, and had only to wait for a few seconds before he started noticing the first changes.

In the black moonless night, in the middle of the fog he had summoned, Harry was sat, his body imbued with snakes. Speaking Parseltongue had revealed them; they were just like the silver snake he had seem earlier, and were waiting for his command. The cold had somehow subdued, but was still potent enough for Harry to shiver from it. Considering his success so far, he tried to push his luck.

"_Leave my body and rejoin the ground. Await for my command there." _The snakes left him, without a word, and arrayed themselves around him when the touched the ground. Each was almost a meter-long, large as a finger, and their coal-black eyes, surveying silently Harry, were the only distinguishable feature they presented.

"_Are you guarding an artefact?"_ Harry continued to hiss, speaking as low as possible; with his attention entirely concentrated on the snake, he didn't want to attract anyone else. He suspected the snakes were only waiting to see what would happen, and didn't fool himself thinking he had them under his control. The only reason they had revealed to him must be because he surprised them by speaking in Parseltongue, and the respite might not last long. He might as well press his advantage.

"_We are, wizard. What is it you want with it?"_ Though not a single forked tongue could be seen, and the snakes had barely moved at all, the voice rang into Harry's mind directly. The snakes seemed to be speaking as an entity, and Harry answered to it using the same method.

"_I am an enemy of Lord Voldemort." _Making his statement, Harry kept a wary eye on the snakes, but it didn't seem to bother them. Had they not been twisting around each other, he would have fought he was surrounded by miniature statues. "_There is an horcruxe here, isn't it?"_

In his mind, Harry felt the silent nod of the snakes.

"_I need to destroy it. Would you oppose me in my task?"_ He tried to make the question as resolute and braced as possible. He wanted his intention to be out in the open, but he had managed to get his wand back, from the tip of his fingers. He was ready if the snakes decided to fight back.

"_We are cussstodians, wizard, by virtue of an old pact. We bow to no one, muggle or wizard folk alike, for we are an ancient and proud race. Only those born with the power to ssspeak our language do we tolerate. The one who created the Horcruxe is long gone, and yet another sssnake-friend presents himself in front of usss. Then, the question mussst be asked; are you worthy?"_

Silence followed their question. An answer was expected from Harry, but none came to his mind. Was he worthy? Of what? Of the task of destroying the horcruxe? Who cared about being worthy? It was an evil piece of magic, the very worst the Dark Arts could produce! Trying to destroy it without question was a matter of common sense, not worth! Harry was bewildered by the snakes' question. He had never thought you had to be worthy of destroying the Horcruxes – otherwise, they would be all but safe from everyone, if only one person could harm them. Besides, if somebody was worthy, it had to be him! His parents had died because of Voldemort, his friend had been in danger because of him, not to mention that _neither can live while the other survives_! The very idea of having to prove why he had to defeat Voldemort was so new to him that it had him confused, and he couldn't answer the snakes. Still they waited patiently, as if experiencing the tumultuous thoughts and memories that raced through his mind. Finally, Harry bowed his head in defeat.

"_I don't know if I'm worthy. Am I?_"

Silence met his declaration. The snakes were still, their eyes looking straight at him, as if gauging him. Harry did not meet their gaze, and remained there, his head inclined. Although hi statement was genuine, and he really meant it, part of him still raged inside, defiant; who were they to demand that of him? He was a Gryffindor, and had proved time and time again he was worth facing the dark arts! Yet, this part of him remained under control, tightly held inside so that no trace of the inner conflict could be seen from outside. The snakes were silent too, as if following the debate they could not see. As soon as Harry had suppressed the warring voice in his head, they spoke.

"_Yesssss…you are indeed worthy, wizard, for beside your pride you can show true humility. And because you have proven you deserved it, behold the Stone!_"

The mass of snakes moved apart, revealing a single silver serpent coming to Harry. In his mind, the image of the reptile he had seen in the morning flashed, but Harry dismissed it. There was no way to tell if it was the same. The serpent coiled, getting closer, and as the other snakes parted reverently, Harry realised he was being presented the Horcruxe. If he was waiting for something grandiose, he was disappointed; the artefact was clearly plain-looking, a leather bracelet holding a small black stone not bigger than Harry's thumb. The stone looked weathered, and the leather gave out signs out weakness in various places. And yet the ominous feeling emanating from it was so powerful it made Harry's hair stand upright.

A low rumble could be heard as Harry stretched his hand to touch the horcruxe. The alien feeling swept the Stone circle, and the faint sounds of wild life that could be heard previously stopped dead, as if nature itself was holding its breath.

Concentrating hard to feel the horcruxe, Harry brushed his fingers tentatively on its surface. As nothing happened, he gained assurance, and grabbed the item from the snake's muzzle. Nodding his thanks, he immerged himself in the radiations the bracelet was giving off. Remembering how Dumbledore had poked around in the cave with his bare hand rather than using a very complicated spell, Harry relied on his feelings and instincts rather than his magical education.

He tried to see further than the primal disgust the very existence of the wristband caused in him, and opened his mind, in an attempt to feel what kind of magic the stone was giving off. Once he found it, he attuned slowly his own magic to the stone, which began, imperceptibly at first, then noticeably, to pulse. Beside him, the snake began to wave their heads in unison, marking a slow tempo almost accorded with the stone's pulsations. Engrossed in his project, Harry rose to his feet without really thinking about it, hands still clenched around the stone which had started to levitate after the vibration it emitted had reached a climax.

The evil presence was still there, and wasn't going down without a fight. It pulled all its malignity and pervasive power to use, trying to break Harry's mind to force him to drop the stone. The might of its attack took Harry by surprise, and he let his concentration slip. Almost immediately, a sharp stab of pain hit him in the ribs, as the horcruxe used his mind to its advantage. Clenching his teeth, Harry growled.

"You…are…just…in my mind! Now leave me alone!"

Memories of how weak Ginny had become when Voldemort had sucked her life force out of her filled his mind, and fuelled his anger. He was not giving in! She had fought for a year before losing, he wouldn't give up now!

The mind battle was now a full-fledged war which violence shook Harry physically. He was a once the assailant and the battlefield, and although none of the hit he was taking were as painful as the first one, he was going to have bruises the next day – if he succeeded and made it out alive. The force of one blow to the side of his head blurred his vision for a minute, and he lost his balance for a few seconds. The steps he took to regain it propelled him newt to a monolith, and he almost rammed his head in the ancient stone he had all but forgotten the existence of. There! That was the key! He had experienced the very morning how different in nature the two energies were; maybe he could use one to overcome the other!

Detaching one arm from the bracelet, he reached out for the monolith he had almost hit, and focused on calling forward the force that was trapped in. It responded to his summoned immediately, as if yearning to take part in the conflict. Through his body, Harry felt the ancient force meet headfirst its rival, and the mind war turned to a slaughter. Harry was mistaken when he had thought the two cohabited; they loathed each other, and fought viciously.

And yet, despite the use of the strength Stonehenge provided, despite the help from the snakes that had raise two-third of their bodies in their ritual dance by now, despite his best efforts, the situation was blocked in a stalemate. Harry could feel his strength was vanishing quickly, and that with his resistances gone, he would not last much longer. Despair seized him, jerking his body. But far from defeat, challenge washed through him, forcing him to marshal his forces once more and attack the horcruxe.

Letting his second hand drop from it, he faced the levitating artefact, pointing at it with his wand, his left palm still posed on the nearby monolith. With a cry of rage, he focused the remaining of his willpower into materializing the magical current he could still feel in his body. Lightening shot from the stone to his left hand, and from his right hand to the horcruxe. The same swirling sensation of power he had already felt when paying his tribute to Dumbledore rushed through his body, restoring his failing stamina and augmenting the strength of the lightning bolt. The flash whitened and grew, making the horcruxe's form disappear in the light. A screeching shout was heard throughout the site, and with a last chill through Harry's body, the evil presence vanished.

The power surge abandoned Harry as soon as the horcruxe was no more, and he fell panting on the ground. He was so weak from all this ordeal that he couldn't even stretch his hand to catch the bracelet. Eyes closing for the exhaustion, he heard more than he saw the snakes drawing closer to him. Only sheer willpower and reflexes made him grasp his wand. If the serpents were the bracelet's custodians, they wouldn't appreciate him destroying it.

"_Get on your feet, sssnake-friend. Wizards are coming, and you have just ssstolen the prize they sought for ssso long…_"


End file.
